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Cody Canada and Cross Canadian Ragweed
âIt was like a drug,â Cody Canada said.
âIt made me want to just do more and more.â
Ah, yes. That classic rock-and-roll cliche. The thing is, someone would need a pretty compelling reason to kick off the story of Cody Canada and Cross Canadian Ragweed with it.
Sure, a good crowd fits the metaphor (Ragweed had those).
So does a veritable catalog of music that defines a genre for a generation (Ragweed had it). Hell, actual drugs do that too (Ragweed? Again, yes). Generally, everything about being the gold standard for Red Dirt music and for Texas music, back when those two were not considered the same thing, is like a drug, almost by definition, if not by practice. The phrase could fit so much.
But thatâs never been how Canada thinks.
Artists are complex creaturesâdriven by fame, spite, sex, demons, love, money, fear, passion and permanent residence atop a pedestal.
Canada may be complex, too, but part of it is chalked up to his simplicity.
Through the arc of Cross Canadian Ragweed, fronted by Canada and flanked by Jeremy Plato on bass guitar, Randy Ragsdale on drums and Grady Cross on rhythm guitar, Canada got an up-close look at all those driving forces. Some got a closer look than others, but none of them stuck to him.
From riding the wave of The Great Divide to breaking through at Larry Joe Taylorâs annual festival to crowds that could drink any venue up to and including Billy Bobâs Texas completely out of beer to the most outwardly stunning band breakup in Red Dirt history, Canada took it all in.
âIt was like a drug.â
Here is the kicker, though. Canada was reflecting on the first time he looked down at a setlist made up of nothing but Ragweed songs.
This is the story of a garage band that caught fire.
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Beginnings
It is really easy and really inaccurate to cast Yukon as some kind of prodigal Red Dirt town when in reality, Garth Brooks happened to live there, and later, Cross Canadian Ragweed happened to live there. Yukon is the suburb that keeps the wheat fields to the west from enveloping Oklahoma City. The stateâs sprawling capital and largest city sits immediately to the east of Yukon, permanently instilling an identity crisis in its 22,000 residents. Itâs as much a bedroom suburb as it is a gateway to waving wheat and oil fieldsâtoo close to The City to be its own small town while fiercely fighting that notion at all times. Yukon is designed to keep people in, and itâs a wonder that anybody who turned to music saw a path out.
For a 15-year-old Cody Canada, a relic theater in Oklahoma Cityâs Capitol Hill district less than 10 miles from Yukon was the first glance at a life away from the burb. Originally from Pampa, Texas, and raised in a broken home, itâs fairest to say he had simply been planted in Yukon during his teenage years.
âI was 15 and a half, playing the Oklahoma Opry. I really donât even know how I got there. It was basically Americaâs Got Talent in Oklahoma City. They wouldnât let me play during school hours. They made me wait until evenings. My grades were so bad, I donât even know why it mattered. I met Dave Dodson, a DJ, there one night. He asked me what I was doing and why I was playing cover songs. He said, âThis doesnât really seem like you,â and I told him that I didnât really know what âmeâ is. And he said, âWell, if you need any help, Iâm here.â
âFast-forward a year. I got a fake ID, and I saw him at Incahoots [Oklahoma Cityâs best-known country dance hall]. He told me not to tell anybody that I saw him there, because he wasnât supposed to be partying. I wasnât going to say anything because I wasnât even 17 years old yet. He said, âIâd like to take you to Stillwater to introduce you to this band called The Great Divide.â
âI had never heard of them.â
Turned out, The Great Divide, itself just a fledgling band, yet to make its 1996 breakthrough album, Break in the Storm, was in the market for a guitar player. Canada got and nailed an audition. He joined up with Mike McClure, J.J. and Scotte Lester and Kelley Green.
âSo I played with them for a few months, working at a western-wear store on the side, with McClure telling me the whole time that this whole cowboy thing wasnât my gig,â Canada said. âThey took me on the road with them. We went to Larry Joeâs sixth annual festival in Possum Kingdom. That was my introduction. I met Rusty Weir, Gary P. Nunn and Larry Joe Taylorâall these people who I had only slightly heard of.â
That introduction ended up being the primary benefit of Canadaâs nailing his audition. After a roughly three-month stint, The Divide voted 3 to 1 to boot Canada, with McClure the one.
âThey said, âWeâre not kicking you out because we donât like you. Weâre kicking you out because you need to do your own thing.â Mike didnât like it, but he was outvoted.
âSo I said, âWell, Iâm gonna go home. I know this guy thatâs been bugging the crap out of me to start a band.ââ
So circa 1994, Canada and Randy Ragsdale started a band.
Teenagers to a man, they nabbed Cross, along with bass player Matt Weidemannâall friends since elementary schoolâmashed up their last names and called themselves Cross Canadian Ragweed.
âWe practiced for seven months, seven days a week, busting our asses,â Canada said. âWe were all working, too. This was all after work.â
Ragsdale came from a musical family, and his father, Johnny C. Ragsdale, proved to be the enabler, allowing the band to practice in the family room, up to and including in front of the TV during the Super Bowl.
There were also several trips to Stillwater. They didnât make the drive to play, though. Rather, they would drive up to watch The Divide practice. They were young, and Canada wanted to take it in.
âI wasnât a very patient person. I wanted a gig,â Canada said. âThey invited us up to The Underdog [the Wormy Dog Saloonâs downstairs 18-and-over outpost] to watch them practice. Well, Mike showed us something then: When the bandâs jamming and itâs loud, you come down from that and you play softer and sing. Thatâs dynamics! I didnât know that, man. It was an eye-opener. So we went back and started practicing really, really hard.
âAbout then is when McClure handed me Songs for the Daily Planet by Todd Snider. He said, âYou wonât like this, but I dig it.â Mike got busy and trailed off with Todd, and now the person who follows him like crazy today is me.â
Stillwater infected Canada, and crossing paths with Tom Skinner gave him the push he needed to relocate.
âSkinner was playing the Bullpen. Mike was in and out of town, but he loaned me his bicycle a lot,â Canada said. âSo I biked over to the Bullpen. I walked up, 17 years old, and Skinner was walking in. He said, âHey, Cody!â
âAnd I said, âHey, Tom. Can I come watch you tonight?â
âHe goes, âWhy couldnât you?â
âI said, âBecause Iâm 17 years old.â
âHe goes, âOhhh.â
âAnd the next thing he says is, âWell, tonight, youâre my nephew. Take my guitar. Come in, donât drink or anything.â I really didnât anyway. It wasnât my thing. I was clear-headed.
âI sat there all night long, listening to him. And then he invited me out to The Farm.
âWeeks later, weâre at The Farm, and he sang in the Gypsy Cafe, and I sat in the front row in a lawn chair watching him. And he goes, âI wanna get my friend Cody up.â
âI donât think Iâve ever been as terrified in my life.
âIt was Bob [Childers] and [Eric] Hansen. Medicine Show lived there. Brad James was the...